


First Year

by ancalime8301



Series: Spencer Stories [51]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Cats, Community: watsons_woes, Gen, POV John Watson, Pets, Sherlock Holmes's Retirement, Sussex, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 06:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15358041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: At first, it's not clear how well Spencer will adjust to life in the country...





	First Year

**Author's Note:**

> Written for watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #19: _Four Seasons. Give us a glimpse of all four seasons with Holmes and Watson._ (I added Spencer. Because retirement!cat is the BEST.)

For over a fortnight after we brought him to Sussex, Spencer showed no interest in venturing outdoors, preferring to periodically inspect every inch of the cottage as the contents were rearranged in the process of unpacking. When he was truly unnerved, he retreated to the cupboard we had designated for him and padded with a blanket he had claimed at Baker Street so he felt more at home. I worried that we had overwhelmed him with the journey and he would never return to his former self. Holmes was confident he'd be in good spirits given time. Holmes was right.

 

Spencer had begun to venture forth into our yard by summer's end, but he didn't see to truly enjoy himself until the first frost killed the first of the foliage and the wind rustled through the grasses as if telling secrets. Then he bounded into the brush, chasing the murmurs and pouncing at unwary birds I tracked our irrepressible feline by the trail of waving grass and startled avians taking flight. He prowled for hours and returned at dusk utterly coated in burrs but purring contentedly as I fed him by the stoop. It took hours to free his fur.

 

Holmes and I hosted Mycroft for the entirety of the holiday season, as he had taken ill in early November and his doctor thought it best to rest somewhere outside London so he would not be beset by work. Thus we came to host Christmas dinner, which Holmes insisted we could cook ourselves. It was not a disaster and was served only slightly later than planned. Our need to keep Spencer away from the kitchen happily resulted in Mycroft gaining a new regard for our feline family member, for they both appreciated good food and napping beside a warm fire.

 

Spencer's enthusiasm for fall paled in comparison with his elation at the arrival of spring. He'd been morose for weeks following Mycroft's departure, but the first chirping of the birds had him out the door as soon as we opened it. He gnawed on the tender shoots peeking up through last year's plant debris. He cavorted in the yard when the butterflies appeared. As his crowning achievement he brought home a dead rabbit, which he deposited squarely on Holmes' foot. If he weren't a cat incapable of such an expression, I would swear he grinned as he did it, too.


End file.
